Around six I began dinner preparations. At six-twenty, now more than concerned, I knocked on her door again. “Dinner’s almost ready.”“I’m no... hungry!”“Sia, we need to talk,” I informed her through the closed doors.“Go away! I don’t want to talk to you!”This was another of those moments. Intimacy aside, I was still her father. She didn’t understand how irreversible or how significant intercourse was. It was my responsibility to help her accept the situation. Steeling myself, I opened the door. I took a coke from the fridge and sat down on my own, my ears straining for any sound that might tell me if they were fucking or engaging in sex, but nothing.I sat and watched the clock ticking as the minutes ticked by, the strain was almost unbearable, and eventually the clock showed the fifteen minutes I had promised them to themselves, and so I slowly went back up, all the time listening, but hearing nothing.I knocked to announce my arrival and went into the room, my nose sniffing the air,. She sighed, making her way to the dressing room. She dressed herself in her usual black outfit, putting on a pair of fishnets, black hot pants, and a black studded bra. She slipped on black fishnet gloves, and her knee-high black boots. She said not a word as she made her way out of the dressing room and up onto the stage. Her dancing suffered. Not only was her heart not in her dancing, but her mind was still back at the motel. She was mid-spin around the onstage striper pole when she caught. " He's thinking that far ahead?" Maddux does. Study the guys who throw slow, not the ones who throw hard. They have to rely upon their smarts. They'll throw a pitch in the 2nd inning to set up a pitch they'll throw two or three innings later to the same batter." It sounds like there's more going on than I thought." Devlin said after a bit.Amelia nodded. "That's what I like about this sport. There's a level of thinking that you don't see in track, which I went out for in high school. A lot of it.